Sunday, September 26, 2010

It's Sunday morning, day of rest and all that. You're supposed to be lazing, preferably while someone else labours in the kitchen to make a decent meal, while hopefully someone else is washing the car, cutting the grass and all those other chores that need to get done, somehow. Houses need staff to run them, they don't get clean by themselves, neither does the laundry get done or any of those other must do things. Sadly, my dog does not have opposable thumbs so that leaves him out of the housework detail, actually, out of anything that is of use. Managing the housekeeper who used to come became a job in itself, when she was available I wasn't and so on. Fortunately the man who cuts the grass needs no supervision, we just have to find him.

It's an incredibly beautiful day outside, blues skies, hot sunshine, the kind of tropical day that entices you to come out and play. And yet, after many days of storming rain, wind, thunder and lightening there is no enthusiasm for the beach. Come to think of it, I've not been to the beach in Trinidad for going on four years! The smell of the ozone, clean, briny and sharp, the crash of waves on a sandy beach, wind swishing through the coconut trees, all just a half hour drive from the house and yet...as much as the sea is my refuge, there is no reason to go. The small sliver that shimmers through the trees from my front windows while not enough to assuage the longing is all that I have the energy to muster up. Truly sad state of affairs for one who at every chance would spend it massaging sand between my toes.

There is also no desire to cook a Sunday meal or any of those Sunday things my mother made us do. Her attitude was that if we managed to cram all our chores into Saturday's we'd have a whole day free, conveniently forgetting that she would find us things to do if we had free time. There was always stuff to do and in all these years, it has not changed. Always, something to do. This morning there is no water, again. A regular weekend feature but maddening none the less simply because there are things to do. Perhaps it is the Universe's way of saying go out and play, but I DON'T WANT TO.

Not that I know what I do want. It's that queer restless feeling that takes hold sometimes. The one that makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say f*** all those things that aren't interesting. To be a gypsy, to not care enough because others don't. To soldier on, past the point of pain, to keep working at it when at the end it will all be for naught. Because it is hard to break the habits of a lifetime and throw off always having to do.

It's Sunday morning, day of rest and all that. You're supposed to be lazing, preferably while someone else labours in the kitchen to make a decent meal, while hopefully someone else is washing the car, cutting the grass and all those other chores that need to get done, somehow. Houses need staff to run them, they don't get clean by themselves, neither does the laundry get done or any of those other must do things. Sadly, my dog does not have opposable thumbs so that leaves him out of the housework detail, actually, out of anything that is of use. Managing the housekeeper who used to come became a job in itself, when she was available I wasn't and so on. Fortunately the man who cuts the grass needs no supervision, we just have to find him.

It's an incredibly beautiful day outside, blues skies, hot sunshine, the kind of tropical day that entices you to come out and play. And yet, after many days of storming rain, wind, thunder and lightening there is no enthusiasm for the beach. Come to think of it, I've not been to the beach in Trinidad for going on four years! The smell of the ozone, clean, briny and sharp, the crash of waves on a sandy beach, wind swishing through the coconut trees, all just a half hour drive from the house and yet...as much as the sea is my refuge, there is no reason to go. The small sliver that shimmers through the trees from my front windows while not enough to assuage the longing is all that I have the energy to muster up. Truly sad state of affairs for one who at every chance would spend it massaging sand between my toes.

There is also no desire to cook a Sunday meal or any of those Sunday things my mother made us do. Her attitude was that if we managed to cram all our chores into Saturday's we'd have a whole day free, conveniently forgetting that she would find us things to do if we had free time. There was always stuff to do and in all these years, it has not changed. Always, something to do. This morning there is no water, again. A regular weekend feature but maddening none the less simply because there are things to do. Perhaps it is the Universe's way of saying go out and play, but I DON'T WANT TO.

Not that I know what I do want. It's that queer restless feeling that takes hold sometimes. The one that makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say f*** all those things that aren't interesting. To be a gypsy, to not care enough because others don't. To soldier on, past the point of pain, to keep working at it when at the end it will all be for naught. Because it is hard to break the habits of a lifetime and throw off always having to do.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Incredibly, the only reason for not logging on for months has been an absence of an internet connection at home. In upgrading my method of connecting it would appear that the "blinking" company cannot cope with my computer, in short, their device does not speak to mine and when contacted, their response is, our technicians are not familiar with the system. As a life-long, dedicated Mac user, I have no intention of parting with my MacBook so the company better figure it out quickly. However, thanks to the generosity of my neighbours I have utilised their wireless connection and am seriously considering either going with the "flow" or "connecting the dots". Trinidadians will understand these references but far be it from me to give anybody free advertising.

So we know that generally customer service sucks in this country. Mind you there are some real gems, for example, the young woman behind the counter at BURGER KING in MARAVAL. Has anyone explained the concept of fast food to these people? Anyway, having reached the top of the line requested a Number 1, that is, Whopper (with cheese thanks), fries and drink. I don't often indulge mind you but sometimes you just gotta have it your way. In very surly tones she related, "it ent have none". What? This is your NUMBER 1 seller and you don't have it? No, you could have the burger, just no fries....this despite rows of packaged fries staring back across the counter. Trying again, in measured tones my friend inquired, but what are those while gesturing to the rows in back of her. At which point she exploded, "ent I tell yuh it ent have no fries!" We left, sans burger of course.

But wait, this was not our only run in, I wonder why we keep going back. It must be because we love punishment.

Anyway, not to complain or anything. Didn't want my first outing back to be about the yucky things. Therefore things that will not be mentioned:BudgetTrafficCrime(!!) except to say, GOOD LUCK MR. GIBBS!WorkThe price of anything

Perhaps I should have made a list of things that I could write about, hmmThe really creamy breakfast scrambled eggs My granny being really happy to be surrounded by all of us talking at the same time on Friday.My brother channeling his inner beach bum.Coffee with my friends yesterday.Coffee!An orange butterfly landing on my air before flitting merrily on it's way.Singing loudly in the car....hey, you can't hear me outside

By the way, VH1 has been endlessly counting down the Top 100 artists of ALL TIME. Subjective list because it speaks to people's perceptions of what is popular at any time, though it this was a poll of 200 musicians. Funny thing though, even as an old geezer, I knew the music of all the bands/singers in the Top 20 (well, I knew most of the Top 100). I couldn't figure out how someone like Madonna, a marketing machine could score higher than say U2 or even AC/DC but then I figured it our. The marketing machine worked. The amazing thing was this, the Beatles were the Number 1 act! Michael Jackson was #2, he's probably spinning in his grave since his life long objective was to top their popularity. I suspect half of the people surveyed weren't even born when the Beatles were around. Now that says something......for the record, they were before my time too but I still play them because their themes and music are timeless.